


Lionfang Week Day 3: Heal

by Eriakit



Series: Lionfang Week 2020 [3]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Politics, Size Difference, Size Kink, the longing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:01:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25437364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eriakit/pseuds/Eriakit
Summary: Anduin has a very long (but net-positive) day.
Relationships: Varok Saurfang/Anduin Wrynn
Series: Lionfang Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1837615
Comments: 15
Kudos: 41
Collections: Lionfang Prompt Week





	Lionfang Week Day 3: Heal

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all Anduin wouldn't shut the fuck up. Also consider this an apology for yesterday?

Every morning Anduin woke up slowly, stretching his limbs out, lungs rushing open to suck in as much fresh air as they could once he poked his head out of his nest of blankets. It was a pattern he’d followed religiously since he was a child. No matter how loud the pounding at his door was, or how cold the servant’s fingers were as they pried him from his bed, or how urgent the matter, he woke slowly in those first few moments. He simply woke up slowly, and accepted the consequences.

He’d never been woken up by a troll before, though.

“Ya Majesty!” was his only warning before he was caught under the shoulder by a three-fingered hand and hauled upward at the same time as a plate full of food so spicy the smell burnt his nose from a foot away was clattered down on his bedside table. Adrenaline shot through him and his eyes opened faster than they ever had in his life, so fast he still _couldn’t see_ as his tired eyes just stuck drily and refused to focus. He scrabbled at the hand holding him upright, only managing to get a wordless croak of confusion out of his dry throat.

The troll changed how they were holding him, both hands coming to rest on the sides of his head. He wobbled at the change in support, desperately blinking to clear his eyes. “Whoa dere, Ya Majesty.” The troll sounded young, and female, and as startled as he was. “Ya said ta wake ya up at sixth-beat, yeah?”

He blinked a few more times and, with plenty of squinting, was able to see a mop of pink hair and two golden eyes set in a narrow, _definitely_ young, blue face. The rush of energy eased as he remembered the girl was the servant who had brought him his meal last night, and he had indeed requested a wake up call. He fumbled around in his memory his her name. Ta’liri? Ta’niri?

They certainly had a different idea of how to wake someone in Orgrimmar.

“I - yes I did. Thank you,” he muttered, stifling a yawn. Her face settled from mild alarm to blatant amusement.

“The pair a ya, I swear. High Overlord can’t sleep, you can’t wake up. Didja steal his rest somehow?” she teased, and Anduin couldn’t help but laugh. It was so refreshing not having people bow and scrape around him, not even the servants.

“Not intentionally, I assure you.”

She raised a brow, stepping back to go fill the tub and putting things to right as she went, efficient as any maid in Stormwind Keep. “Ya know, my ma’da always told me that ya can’t sleep if ya already be in someone else’s dreams.” She glanced over her shoulder just as Anduin stumbled upon trying to stand, and she snickered at him. “Don’t ya worry none, Ya Majesty. Old Ta’miri not gonna tell anyone. Fit brute like ‘im, he be in _many_ people’s dreams.”

She winked at him, moving to make the bed as he did his best to not turn redder than the flags on the wall. He struggled to find a response to that… _implication_ , and was only able to rather lamely respond with: “You are by no means _old.”_ He quickly stuffed a piece of the spiced meat she’d brought - which he found was accompanied by steamed peppers and cactus apples and some form of juice which was crisp and sweet that he’d never tasted before - into his mouth before he could say anything else and possibly damn himself. He’d neglected to remember that the meat was spicy, however, before he shoved it into his face.

He choked, the burn going up his nose immediately. It was like fire in his airways, even hotter than the soup that Madam Goya had had him eat as if it were some form of trial for entry to the Tavern. But by the Light, it was delicious. But the burn urged him to swallow it quickly - which was his second mistake.

Coughing with that much pepper in your throat _hurt._

Ta’miri bustled over and patted him on the back, offering him his glass of juice and getting him to sit on the edge of the bed again. “Drink ya juice, Ya Majesty,” she said calmly but entirely without sympathy, and Anduin was suddenly absolutely certain she had younger siblings. “Do ya need something less spicy? I can head to the kitchens -“

“No! No, sorry,” he muttered, taking a sip of his juice. His mouth was still on fire, but less so. “I actually, well I love spicy food but I’ve never managed to become numb to it.”

She snorted at him, and he watched her as she wandered back to tidying up. “You’ll have plenty a time to adjust here, Ya Majesty. The Hold’s cook likes her spices _strong,_ an’ none a the Warchiefs have _ever_ had the courage ta ask her ta tone it down.”

Anduin hummed an affirmative as he chewed his next bite thoroughly, reveling in the burst of flavors and what felt like dragon fire over his tongue as he did so. He watched as Ta’miri finished her tidying and then poked around in his bag, finally pulling out a thin, bright blue shirt and grey trousers. She clucked her tongue at the shirt’s short sleeves, eyeing him critically from over the garment.

“Ya gonna burn, ya know. But it be that or smother.”

“Oh, I know,” he told her, gesturing up at his hair with a sigh. “Any human with hair and skin like mine is used to it. I’d appreciate some salve for it, if there’s any to spare.”

She clucked her tongue again, shaking her head. “Ya, we got plenty made up for the elves and the Forsaken. Ya prefer mud, or aloe?”

He blinked, honestly unsure which was worse,dirt or an unknown thing he might well be allergic to. But he supposed he could’ve been allergic to the food too, and that hadn’t stopped him. “Um. Not mud?”

She snorted at him. “Ya never gonna wanna leave, if ya don’t have aloe for ya burns where ya from.”

And then all a sudden, after not twenty minutes, she seemed to be done with everything she deemed needed doing and stepped over to him faster and more gracefully than some rogues he’d met. She gestured at the piece of cactus apple he was holding. He dropped it back on the plate, and immediately found himself helped - hauled - upright, and then thick fingers were tugging up his sleepshirt.

“What -“

She paused, brow crinkled. “Do ya not be wantin’ a bath, Ya Majesty?” Her nose flared briefly, and he had the sudden realization that most of the people in this city could smell things far more acutely than he could. Could smell _him_ more acutely than he could.

“Ah, yes, it’s just - normally I’ve a man helping me dress and undress, or no one at all.”

She snorted at him again, and yanked his nightshirt off over his head in one smooth motion.

“I got four little brothas, Ya Majesty. Lemme show you which soaps good on burns.”

At least he’d gotten over being body-shy at the Tavern’s hot springs. He sighed, and let himself be harried into the large tub.

Eight hours later, he was hungry, his head hurt, his back ached, and he was longing for Ta’miri’s no-nonsense bullying and spicy food and near-burning-hot water. He’d been sitting in a fur-draped chair or standing bent over maps and decrees for so many hours that the words blurred. He’d nearly written something in the wrong language several times, and if one more person started a fight he swore on the Light he would -

He’d -

He sighed, pinching his nose as yet another argument broke out. A flurry of different languages washed over his head: Thalassian, Orcish, Taurahe, even smatters of Common. Ji Firepaw tried to cut in and break up the debate between Lor’themar and Jaina, then gave up and started muttering the longest string of curses Anduin ahd ever heard in Pandaren. It was a mess. No one wanted to give an inch, no one wanted to bend to accommodate anyone else, and Talanji hadn’t even arrived yet. He could only imagine how well _that_ would go.

At least Genn had gone and sent Mia in his stead.

The latest argument was the third round of someone or other being annoyed at the last-minute choice to gather everyone in Orgrimmar to discuss a peace treaty in the wake of Sylvanas’ hasty exit, rather than find somewhere more neutral. It had all been going so well until Jaina had taken offense to a comment about how well _neutral_ cities had treated the Horde in the past, and now it looked like Thalyssra was an inch away from wading in, spells flying in Lor’themar’s defense. Ji had gone and sat down and covered his ears, and Anduin couldn’t blame him.

 _“Enough,”_ rumbled Saurfang from the head of the table where Rokhan had unceremoniously shoved him this morning. The one word wasn’t particularly loud, but Lor’themar’s jaws shut with a click of teeth that was audible, his eye rolling. He looked slightly more contrite when he turned his head and caught how Saurfang had slumped to rest his head in one giant hand.

“...My apologies, High Overlord,” Lor’themar answered, bowing his head. “The wounds still feel fresh.”

“As I’m sure they do for us all,” Anduin stated, glowering at Jaina until she sighed and sat back down, nodding.

One of the tauren braves flanking Baine’s seat to Anduin’s left snorted. Anduin paid no mind, until the tauren then muttered _“As if you would know, pinkskin,”_ in Taurahe,the shift back out of Orcish jarring enough Anduin registered it more than he might otherwise have. Baine stiffened, head turning, but Anduin had had enough an hour ago, and that was _it._

 _“I speak Taurahe, you know,”_ he snapped back, enjoying the widening of the young bull’s eyes. Baine sighed. Anduin ignored him. _“I can read and write it, too, if you’d like to submit your complaints formally.”_ Lor’themar chuckled into his wine, and Anduin turned back to him, patience gone. He switched slightly less smoothly into Thalassian. _“And your people’s language as well, Regent Lord.”_ He stood up, joints creaking. He propped a hand on his hip, feeling much like a nursemaid surrounded by toddlers, and kept himself to Orcish. “I can speak, or at least understand, _most_ of your languages. Thalyssra and Lillian are likely the only two here who I might have issues conversing with outside of Orcish, and _honestly,_ given how close Shalassian is to Thalassian and Darnassian, and how close Gutterspeak is to Common, _I could probably still get by.”_

He leant over the table again, bringing his fist down on the map currently sprawled across it with a satisfying _thump_. “Now, if we’re all _quite_ finished pecking at each other like hens and pretending we don’t know how many times we’ve all been insulted this morning, could we _please_ return to the issue at hand? Not bickering over _location,_ not catty comments about the past, but actually finding out how we can help each other grow, and heal, and build bridges between our peoples?” He looked around at the assembled people - Baine, Mayla Gazlowe, Rokhan, Saurfang, Geya’rah, Lillian, Lor’themar, Thalyssra, Jaina, Aysa, Overspark, Shandris, Mia. So many, and still more would arrive, he was sure. He met each person’s eyes in turn, and all but Shandris nodded at him.

He raised his eyebrow at him, and her ears twitched - a tic of hers, and one he could never quite decide was nerves, or annoyance. Perhaps it was both. “If I may be allowed a complaint, High King?” He merely kept staring at her, and her ears twitched more violently before she spoke. “I am merely a stand-in. Why are we even bothering to start, before we all gather?”

He resisted the urge to scream. “As we have gone over already, General, we can begin the groundwork in the time it takes to gather the rest of us. Or do you have a way to get Tyrande to arrive faster?” _Or can you drag Tyrande away from hunting for Horde in Darkshore_ was what he meant, and everyone present knew it. “Can you speed the winds and currents that are bringing Queen Talanji and Elder Kiro? Or those bringing the council’s envoy, or Velen?”

She shook her head, the tension leaving her shoulders as she opted not to press too hard.

“A pity. Neither can I.” He cast his gaze over the room again, the warm reds of it soothing to his eyes but still somehow setting his teeth on edge after so many hours stuck in here. It had gone from feeling like a warm cocoon to feeling like being trapped in a beast’s gut after an hour of this. He sighed, absently tapping his fingers against the map under his hands, and caught Saurfang’s gaze.

Saurfang merely watched him, eyes heavy-lidded, a faint smirk not-quite-hidden behind the hand his chin was propped on. Saurfang nodded at him again, and Anduin felt a tingle light lightning over his back, setting steel back into his spine. He cleared his throat, refocusing on the map under him rather than look at any person in particular. 

“The point in starting, Shandris, is so we, eventually, finish. We could dither for decades, putting this off and waiting until something else strains us until we all snap and end up at each other’s throat again. Look at what happened after Garrosh’s arrest -” a collective wince went through the room, which Anduin ignored, “- the Alliance and Horde decided to wait until after Hellscream’s trial to sort everything out, and then everything went, if none of you mind the vulgarity, to utter _shit.”_

Jaina jerked slightly in her seat, and Mia chuckled. Baine rumbled thoughtfully.

“King Wrynn is right,” he murmured, gesturing at the table between them all. “We can not afford to wait for time to heal these wounds of ours. We must put the effort in ourselves to… speed up the process.”

“Even if that means cauterizing them, or breaking bone to reset it,” Anduin tacked on, looking pointedly at Jaina and Shandris. “Sometimes you have to hurt to heal.”

Rokhan scoffed, and Anduin turned, ready to deal with more opposition. Instead, the troll looked some odd combination between mildly queasy and smugly superior. “Never been gladder to heal like a troll, to hear you all talk,” he muttered. A pause, and then Saurfang laughed. It broke the tension, and even Shandris smiled briefly.

Anduin shook his head as the brief mirth passed, and directed his next comment to Rokhan. “Perhaps we should seek your opinion then, as you’re the expert on healing quickly here.”

Rokhan nodded thoughtfully - and then started with a demand for the night elves to cede the entirety of Ashenvale and pull out all forces.

Anduin sighed, and overheard Baine order one of the braves to get the servants to bring in their late lunch instead of setting up in the dining hall.

It was dark before they were released for the night, the stars spread out over the sky like sparkling, fluttering scarves. Anduin lingered outside the hold, listening to the howl of the wind going through the canyon and the muted rumble of sound from the buildings around him, feeling the desert's nighttime cold seep in through his clothes. It was refreshing after so many hours crammed in with a dozen other bodies and braziers kept stoked to provide the needed light to write by.

The door to the hold creaked open and heavy footfalls landed with muted thuds against the dusty ground. A wall of faint heat settled itself beside him, and Varok cleared his throat.

“You handle them well. But never ask Rokhan for any suggestions outside of a war meeting.”

Anduin snorted, keeping his head tilted back to keep watching the stars. “You could have warned me _before_ he nearly sent Shandris into a rage.”

Varok chuckled, and Anduin felt his shrug in how the heat beside him shifted. “Admittedly, I’d thought you wouldn’t try so hard to involve the Horde - that you’d ask Baine for input, perhaps, or myself.” 

Anduin hummed, too content to be outside and away from all that noise to be as irked about that assumption as he might otherwise be. He swayed a little in place, watching the stars move-but-not-move up above as he did.

The orc beside him shifted again. “Do you see something up there?”

He sounded almost… nervous. Anduin leaned closer to him, until their shoulders just brushed. Varok jolted under the contact, then pressed back so they were leaning into each other. “Only the stars,” Anduin mumbled, now more focused on the tight press of their arms. It made his chest ache, and he wanted - he swallowed, heart racing. He wanted rather a lot, rather suddenly, and a good portion of it revolved around how very _large_ Varok was, and how carefully he’d moved so as not to knock Anduin over.

“I clearly remember there being stars above Stormwind, last I was there.”

Anduin blinked, confused for a moment, before remembering they’d been having a conversation before his mind had… wandered. “They, um.” He swallowed, shifting on his feet to lean his weight fully against Varok’s arm. The orc didn’t even need to adjust to take the weight, and Anduin’s stomach swooped. “They look different, here. Clearer.”

He turned his head enough to look at Varok and found the orc already watching him. Varok smiled down at him, seemingly unconcerned he’d been caught, and Anduin’s limbs _shook._

“Walk with me?” Varok offered, and Anduin nodded before really thinking the offer over.

They’d not made it ten steps before Varok’s hand slid over his back again in an echo of the day before. Anduin shivered at the feeling through the flimsy barrier of his cotton shirt, and Varok hummed in what sounded like utterly false concern. “Are you cold?” was some form of trap, it felt like, and Anduin leapt forward into it with a silent nod, his cheeks warm enough he vaguely wondered if they’d glow in the dark. Varok tugged him closer as they made their way toward a doorway set into the wall at the front of the city, wrapping his arm fully around Anduin’s middle. Varok’s palm spread over Anduin’s belly, that one arm large enough to surround him.

Anduin gulped, letting Varok guide them both to a metal staircase and up-and-around until they were on top of the wall, too busy focusing on fingers pressing into his side and wondering if there was ever a way to go about asking to be thrown over someone’s shoulder without dying of embarrassment. He traced the wrinkles on the knuckle of Varok’s thumb with his fingers and Varok stumbled, squeezing him tighter for a moment, before walking faster along the top of the wall, towards the eastern end of it.

“There’s a step,” Varok murmured, and Anduin blinked, refocusing on where he _was_ rather than the vague images his mind kept generating every time he felt muscle flex around him. He found himself released and being urged up onto the rocks at the edge of Orgrimmar’s gate, dust swirling around him as Varok helped him clamber up and onto the cliff proper. 

It was windier and colder up here, and Anduin shivered for a reason besides lust as a gust found its wait around his neck and down his shirt. He glanced up at Varok’s face and Varok was pressed close to him again seconds later, body heat catching between them and amplifying, warming Anduin’s back and sending his thoughts spinning away again, catching and locking on the idea of how warm Varok’s chest would be against his back if both were bare of any clothing.

He swallowed harshly, shaking his head. “You could have brought a blanket instead of making yourself my personal fireplace,” he teased weakly, and laughed at the expression of distaste on Varok’s face.

“But then I wouldn’t have an excuse to do this,” Varok said, curling his arm to press Anduin tighter to his chest, as if stating things so baldly was _normal,_ as if that was how it was _done._ As if there weren’t protocols, procedures, relatives to beg for permission from, or a dozen other things one had to go through before they got to _this._

But maybe there weren’t, in the Horde.

Anduin twisted his neck to keep Varok’s face in view as he was hugged from behind. Ah, there - the faintest of nerves, Varok’s eyes darting left-and-away before coming back to meet his own again. It soothed him, somehow, to know that even with age and experience this could be just as terrifying. “Did anyone say you needed an excuse?” He grinned, leaning fully back into Varok’s chest. “I don’t remember being discouraging.”

Varok laughed, the tight edge of tension leaving his face. “You’re right, you weren’t. In fact...” He smirked, bending down to bring his face closer to Anduin’s. “Did you know, Anduin, that orcs have different customs regarding marriage? Very different from how humans do things, I hear.”

Anduin blinked, flushing both from the sudden, tempting proximity of Varok’s mouth - and _tusks_ \- and from the topic of conversation. “I, ah. I would assume so. But I can’t say I’ve ever had the opportunity to study any… differences in courting.” He took a breath. “I might like to, though.”

Varok smiled wider, and Anduin felt, suddenly, that he’d hopped right into another trap. “Indeed. Soyou wouldn’t know how an orc proposes a union, then?”

“No,” Anduin answered.

“They offer to take the object of their affection on a _hunt,_ to see how well they function as a pair.”

Anduin’s lung stopped working. He’d - oh, he’d - “I -”

“Invited me on a hunt, yes.” Varok rumbled lowly, deep enough Anduin felt it in his bones. “I knew you likely didn’t know what that could mean,” he continued, eyes bright with mischief. “But I did accept.”

An errant thought zipped across Anduin’s mind, and he giggled, high pitched and aborted, slapping a hand over his mouth to stop the foolish noise just a breath too late. Varok’s eyes went wide in delight, his grin growing ever larger, and Anduin snorted.

“I just thought of Genn’s face, were I to tell him I finally acquired a betrothed,” he informed him, heading off any comments on his laughter before they could begin.

That same cackle from the other day rang out, Varok’s head tilted back, his whole body shaking. He brought his other arm up to encircle Anduin and held him tightly, laughter rocking them both. Anduin shook his head at him, faux-exasperated.

Varok’s mirth quieted, but didn’t fade, his eyes still bright. Anduin beamed back, the stress of the day forgotten, the glowing warmth between them making it feel like this moment would never end, that it would stretch like taffy for the rest of time.

“That would be one way to bring the factions together,” Varok chortled.

Anduin paused, considering. He let Varok rock them gently a moment. “Indeed it would.” He shook his head, dismissing Varok’s sudden, suspicious squinting. “Did you bring me up here for anything beyond privacy to tease me in?”

Varok peered at him closer, then twitched. He looked from Anduin’s face to the boulders around them twice or thrice, then chuckled. “Ah, I’d wondered why you hadn’t said anything. And to think I’d taken it as a compliment. You can’t see there, can you?”

Anduin furrowed his brows at him. “See what? The rocks? They’re pretty, but - _whoa.”_

In a breath he was turned and picked up, and before he had time to stop flailing for a grip on Varok’s chest the orc was grumbling to himself as he hauled them both over a few of the boulders, thumping down on the other side of them in short order. Anduin’s face burned at just how _easily_ Varok had moved him around, and more at how much he’d enjoyed it.

But then he was pried off like it was nothing and set down on his feet. Varok’s hands landed on his shoulders and Anduin was spun, facing into the city, and - _oh._

It was beautiful.

The indigo darkness of the canyon and the cliffsides were lit with faint sparks of gold and orange light, the torches and braziers all so tiny from up here. It was as if the stars about were mirrored below, but made warmer, more inviting. The bright, sometimes searing colors of day were replaced with rippling shadows, the metal edges of the building bordering their dark bulks with glinting reflections. Beyond the city itself the darkness stretched out, over the plateau, over the sparkle of the river that led to the Valley of Wisdom’s waterfall, as far as the eye could see until the horizon was broken by the shadows of trees and mountains.

Anduin gaped, staring for so long his eyes felt dry. Varok’s warm hands squeezed his shoulders eventually, and Anduin came to his senses with a start.

“That’s far more like what I was expecting,” Varok murmured, fondness etched into every line or his face as Anduin turned to face him fully. Anduin’s heart pounded - Varok had brought him up here just to show him this. Just to take him away from the tension of their day and find some quiet. He’d _noticed_ how much Anduin had enjoyed the city, and then the stars, and he’d wanted to make Anduin happy with more simple, beautiful things. Just because. “I can show you how to get up here from a couple of places tomorrow, in the ligh-”

Anduin gripped the straps on Varok’s breastplate and hauled himself upward, cutting Varok off by suddenly, but gently, pressing their lips together.

Varok made a noise like _thunder,_ hands sliding down to Anduin’s thighs and gripping, pulling him bodily up to a more comfortable height. Anduin whimpered, trying to lock his legs around Varok’s middle and failing, forced to rely on Varok’s sheer strength to hold him up as Varok kissed him again. It was gentle, mindful of sharp teeth and jutting tusks which Anduin could feel grazing his cheeks as Varok tilted his head.

Anduin tugged on the handy leather straps, urging Varok on, writhing in his grip. It was messy as they both pressed further, their mouths mismatched, but it was _sweet -_ Anduin trying out a cautious nip to Varok’s lower lip, before Varok’s tongue swept into his mouth and stole all reason. Their shared breath fogged the cold air in short puffs, and Anduin’s back felt cold compared to the burning, desperate heat all along his front.

His thighs were shaking from pressing them so tightly to Varok for so long by the time they stopped. Varok pressed his forehead to Anduin’s, quite growls spreading between them as they caught their breaths.

“This is probably a very, very stupid thing to do,” Varok muttered. Anduin might’ve felt rejected, were it not for how Varok held onto his ass as he said it. Kneading, almost. It made him ache so much it was difficult to shut up the tiny voice telling him to try to get Varok to lower him to the ground and spend the night right there.

“Felt pretty brilliant to me,” he answered, pressing a short peck to Varok’s tusk as he did. Varok growled again, and Anduin sighed. “Possibly. Probably. Do you care, though? I find I don’t. Is us being… _something_ really going to break apart everything, if wars and fires and old gods haven’t?”

“We’ve yet to scrape together enough _to_ break apart, Anduin. This could prevent it.”

Anduin hissed. “Then we take those who aren’t too blind to find their own dicks to piss with and we work with _them,_ and the others can fight it out until they die, or exhaust themselves and join us.” He leaned back, looking Varok in the eye. “I want to _try,_ Varok.”

Varok eyed him levelly, then nodded. “You’ve the heart of an orc, Anduin Wrynn.”

“I’ve the heart of a lion,” Anduin countered, grinning as he leaned forward again to press another quick kiss to Varok’s lower lip. “You’ll soon find out they’re much the same, I think.”

**Author's Note:**

> Anduin Wrynn has a size kink and he's not afraid to wax poetic about it in his head ad nauseum.


End file.
